THE MAIDEN'S FIRST LOVE.
Her dove-like spirit through her mournful eyes
Looks softly upward to its native heaven;
For a love-spell upon her being lies,
Whose many mystic links may not be riven.
Love breathed into her girlish heart, perchance,
On some sweet eve, beside a pleasant stream,
Poured from the lightning of a radiant glance,
Till love's wild passion kindled passion's dream.
Looks softly upward to its native heaven;
For a love-spell upon her being lies,
Whose many mystic links may not be riven.
Love breathed into her girlish heart, perchance,
On some sweet eve, beside a pleasant stream,
Poured from the lightning of a radiant glance,
Till love's wild passion kindled passion's dream.
For love at first is but a dreamy thing,
That slily nestles in the human heart,
A morning lark, that never plumes its wing
Till hopes and fears, like lights and shadows, part:
And thus unconscious as she looks above
She breathes his blessed name in murmurs low,
Yet never for a moment thinks of love,
And almost wonders why she murmurs so.
That slily nestles in the human heart,
A morning lark, that never plumes its wing
Till hopes and fears, like lights and shadows, part:
And thus unconscious as she looks above
She breathes his blessed name in murmurs low,
Yet never for a moment thinks of love,
And almost wonders why she murmurs so.
Ah! mournful one! the thoughts, thou wilt not speak,
Their trembling music at thy heart-strings play,
Till the bright blood, that mantles to thy cheek,
In faint and fainter blushes melts away.
Their trembling music at thy heart-strings play,
Till the bright blood, that mantles to thy cheek,
In faint and fainter blushes melts away.
